


Who We Are

by JuweWright



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dark Mark, F/M, Fluff, Post-Hogwarts, Scars, lavender lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 03:14:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10527672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuweWright/pseuds/JuweWright
Summary: Hermione has secretly been meeting Draco for coffee for a year. They have become friends. But might they be more than that? Involves a horrible official ball, definite references to "Beauty and the Beast" (which were unintentional but they happened) and shitloads of fluff.





	

Charity balls. There was hardly anything that Hermione Granger hated more than charity balls. Other official occasions, it was possible to skip them, tell people you were unavoidably detained, you had a headache, you were busy. But charity balls: You had to attend them didn’t you? And this one was to raise funds for a new children’s ward at St Mungo’s. Not going there was out of the question. And going there would be – terrible at the least. Of course Harry and Ginny were invited. As was Ron, whom she had not spoken to for the last two years, because he was “the biggest douche who ever walked the earth”. Quoting George Weasley in one of his cheery moments. These moments had become rare. Hermione savoured them.

Sometimes she spent her lunch break at Weasley Wizard Weezes. The constant buzz of the customers was a nice backdrop for half-serious conversations with the man who had become her best friend after the war. When she told him about the charity ball, he had offered to be her date for the evening, but she would not let him do this. He’d have to face the journalists. He’d have to answer questions. He’d have to think about Fred. Even more than he usually did. There was no way she was letting him do that just so she would feel a little more comfortable.

So she was ready to go to the ball on her own. She had altered an older gown so it looked like a new one. She hated to go shopping and magic was a great invention if you wanted to change your wardrobe. A last glance into the mirror in her tiny but comfortable flat right across from the Leaky Cauldron revealed a beautiful yet slightly tired looking woman. The dress was dark green and had a violet shimmer when the light fell onto the fabric in a certain angle. It was a simple pattern, tight around the upper body, turning into an A-shape towards the floor. Something that looked festive enough but still allowed for breathing and leg-room.

She applied some mascara and some dark-red lipstick to finish off the look and then headed towards her fireplace. She usually preferred to apparate, but it turned out that her hair didn’t like apparition. It just always came out fuzzy and unkempt even if she had sleaked it down before leaving. So the Floo network it was. She stepped into the fire shouting her destination and half a second later, she stepped onto a thick red carpet in the Drawing Room of Sudbury Hall.

“Ah, Hermione!,” she heard a familiar voice and upon looking up noticed Harry and Ginny standing there. They obviously had arrived just a second before her.

Harry smiled and hugged her tightly.

“You look absolutely marvellous in that dress,” he stated. “Ready to face the beastly crowd of half-wit writs that are waiting in the hallway to sink their claws into us?”

She sighed and shrugged.

“I’ll never be ready for them.”

“Me neither,” murmured Harry and Ginny in unison.

“By the way,” Ginny added. “Ron is already there. I thought you should know. He brought Lavender. And… Draco’s also here. And he hasn’t brought Astoria. Whatever that means.”

“That means he’s finally dumped her after she had an affair with Zabini for half a year,” Hermione blabbed – and blushed.

Ginny frowned.

“How the hell do you know that?”

“I… we met. By chance. At Flourish and Blotts. Buying books.”

“Ah. And the first thing he told me was that his wife cheated on him?”

Harry took his wife’s arm and turned toward the door.

“As the walls have ears around here, I’d prefer you postpone the cross-examination of our friend until we are back in familiar territory.”

He shot Hermione a glance that made sure this was not a getaway. He was really concerned about the press but he was also very very curious about how she had found out about Astoria Greengrass and Blaise Zabini snogging in a room above a dark and dank pub in Knockturn Alley whilst Draco believed they were at a conference in America with the Ministry.

Hermione sighed. It would have come out sooner or later. She hadn’t lied though. The first time she’d met Draco had really been at Flourish and Blotts about a year ago. They had both been looking for the same book and literally bumped into each other in front of one of the shelves. It had been an awkward situation. After all, they had not seen each other since the end of the war. They had not talked. And whilst Hermione had attended the seventh respectively eighth year at Hogwarts, Draco had not returned to school.

 

~*~*~*~

 

“ _I am sorry, Granger. I… I was looking for the new edition of “Most Potente Potions”. It’s supposed to be so much better than the old one.”_

“ _You must have read the same review as me”, Hermione smiled and pulled two volumes from the shelf handing one to the blond man who was clearly not comfortable._

“ _Er… thank you.”_

_He turned to leave and she was about to let him, but on a whim, she addressed him again._

“ _Would you… do you want to grab a coffee somewhere?”_

_He hesitated, then came back a few steps. His grey eyes meeting hers for the first time._

“ _Do you think that’s a good idea? The two of us having coffee in public?”_

_She had to admit that he had a point. If anyone saw them together, rumours would spread. Draco was still despised by many in the Wizarding Community although he had done a lot to clear his name. She noticed that although it was summer, he was wearing long sleeves. Nobody would ever clear the mark off his skin, though. Nobody would ever clear the memory. Her own hand had involuntarily touched her underarm, her fingertips brushing against the scar that still remained from back when Bellatrix Lestrange had tortured her in Malfoy Manor._

“ _Well,” she said, “we could go to a Muggle place. Nobody will care whether it’s a good idea in that case.”_

 

_~*~*~*~_

 

It had become a regular habit for them to meet for coffee in the tiny coffee shop around the corner from the Leaky Cauldron. The Wizards and Witches passed by that place as if it were as invisible to them as the Cauldron was for Muggles. It was the perfect hiding place. The only person who knew about the meetings was George. At first he had told her she was mental. But after a while he had noticed how her growing friendship – because it had become a friendship – with Draco led to her being more relaxed.

“It’s because of the nightmares,” she explained to him one day. “They still re-occur, but they seem to have less of a hold on me now that I am living and breathing the peace. You know. He was the enemy and now he is just...”

Draco Malfoy was a considerate person, a gentleman, a guy who drank his coffee black but sometimes with sugar and who could not say no to a piece of chocolate cake. He was also a troubled mind. They never talked about how he had taken the mark. They never talked about how Malfoy Manor was still the setting of Hermione’s nightly horrors. They talked about work, about whether or not they wanted to have children some day. They talked about how society still did not accept most of the Slytherins in their midst, although unlike Draco most of them had not been directly involved with any of Lord Voldemorts doings. She talked about Ron and how he was the most inconsiderate prat on this planet. He talked about Astoria and how he suspected her of having an affair behind his back. But mostly, they talked about books. Their shared love for reading was enough to keep the conversation running for hours. It was relaxing to have someone to talk to who didn’t want anything from her except from a nice conversation now and then.

Hermione smiled. She hadn’t thought about this: The institution that had raised the funds for the hospital was run by Draco and Theo. Of course he would be here. She entered the hallway and a storm of flashlights reminded her why that wasn’t really a soothing thought. Their friendship was a secret and it should probably best stay one if they didn’t want the tabloids breaking down their doors.

When she had made her way past the journalists and finally entered the study, she was surprised by how many people were already gathered there.

“Oh, Hermione,” Luna Lovegood greeted her.

Her eyes were enlarged to four times their size behind a pair of violet-rimmed spectacles. The woman wore a matching violet dress that made her look a bit like a blueberry pie and she was leaning against a dapperly dressed Neville Longbottom who looked very much in love. Hermione was glad to see them together. It had taken them a while after the war to find that the bond they had formed during Dumbledore’s Army and their time in hiding was strong enough to withstand reality. They were the opposite of Ron and Hermione and seeing them together gave her a warm feeling. They just glowed with happiness.

“Good to see you,” Neville smiled and pointed in the direction of the next room in which two tables were laden with a huge buffet. “You have to try the strawberry tarte, it’s to die for.”

Hermione laughed and followed his advice making her way through the crowd, saying hello to everybody, smiling at everybody, being a good sport. God, how she hated these gatherings! She had just managed to get a plate and turned to shovel some strawberry tarte onto it, when she felt somebody touch her side ever so slightly.

“Glad you came, Granger,” Draco murmured behind her, while going for – unsurprisingly – the chocolate-fudge-muffins which looked like they probably contained a billion calories per bite.

“Good to see you, Malfoy,” she responded with a smile and she meant it.

It was good to see him. More than that. She enjoyed his company so much these days. And she liked being around him. And he looked absolutely amazing in that tailored suit he was wearing. And she was clearly not thinking straight.

Speeches. There were speeches. About a hundred of them. About how awesome the hospital would be, how great it was they had collected so many galleons, how great it was that everybody had shown up to celebrate the occasion, how great it was to welcome the Golden Trio in their midst.

Ron didn’t talk to her. She didn’t feel like talking to him. He made a point out of kiss-sucking Lavender every five seconds and making sure it was in her line of sight. She pretended not to notice. It was dreadful. It got significantly better when the band started playing and people took to dancing especially as half of the press people had been bored to death by the speeches and had made their exits already.

Hermione danced a round with Harry as they always did. The journalists took photos while they danced. The newspapers never got tired of subtitling pictures of them “Happy Reunion, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger still going strong together”. It was better they did that then go for “Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley estranged: What happened in the wake of the war?”

After a lively foxtrot she had managed to stomp through with an over-eager Luna on her arm, she decided that this was enough dancing and she’d probably be able to leave. She had almost made it to the door, when Draco stepped into her way.

“Already leaving?” he asked with the typical Malfoy sneer on his face.

She sighed.

“You know how much I hate this. These formal occasions. The publicity. All of this. It’s dreadful.”

“I’d hoped for a dance.”

“You know that’s a terrible idea.”

He looked around and spotted the few photographers that were still lurking around.

“I know,” he said and closed his eyes for a second, almost as if he was in pain.

When he opened them again, she had the impression of falling into his gaze. The light was pretty bad in here and his pupils were huge. She could see her own image reflected in them.

“How about we go somewhere else?” he suggested.

“But… you are one of the hosts.”

It was a lame answer. She should have deterred him, told him this was generally a bad idea. But she had a few glasses of wine and – no that was not an excuse she was going to use. She wasn’t drunk and even if she had not had a drop of alcohol tonight, she’d still have wanted to dance with Draco Malfoy right now.

“Theo’s having a lot of fun with Daphne. I am free to go.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

They rushed down the corridor as if they were children who were doing something they knew they were forbidden to do. Hermione’s heart was racing. The Drawing Room was deserted and the fireplace had still a merrily burning fire in it.

“Ready?” Draco asked.

“Where are we going?” she wanted to know.

He shook his head and smiled.

“Surprise. Trust me?”

He held out a hand. She took it without a second of hesitation and they both stepped into the fireplace.

When she opened her eyes again – she always closed them to avoid feeling sick from the strange rotation that occurred during Floo travel – she was standing in yet another Drawing Room. This one looked nicer in the moonlight that fell through the windows though. It had more books.

“Where are we?”

“You’ll recognize it. I am pretty sure you know it. Lumos.”

He had not let go of her hand and she didn’t let go either, but followed him down a hallway and finally into a huge open entrance hall. The black and white marble floor, the huge staircase, the high ceiling: Yes, she knew this place. She had been here before.

“Chatsworth has a connection to the Floo network?” she enquired.

“It has tonight,” Draco stated simply and winked.

She laughed.

“You planned this.”

“I might have. Are you going to call me an evil little cockroach and punch me for it?”

She shook her head. Her eyes went wide when he flicked his wand and about three dozen candles started flickering in the candelabras. Another flick of the wand and the pianoforte in the hallway opened its cover and started playing a waltz as if ghostly fingers jumped over the keys.

A shiver ran down her spine and she felt as if tears were welling up in her eyes.

“Granger? Are you all right? Did I do something wrong? Are you crying?”

He sounded panicked. Hermione smiled through the tears and shook her head.

“It’s just… way too magical and way too fairytale-like to be happening. I guess I am waiting to wake up any second – or for this to turn into the usual nightmare.”

Draco’s grasp tightened around her hand.

“I have wanted to dance with you since I saw you at the Yule Ball. I know that sounds weird, but it’s really true. And now I am going to lead you down that staircase – or carry you down in case that gown of yours requires that for health and safety reasons – and then I am going to ask you for a waltz, for a foxtrot, for a Charleston and for one or two Mazurkas. That is – if you want to.”

Suddenly he looked very self conscious. His usual confident demeanour vanished completely in a second as if he really expected that there was a chance she’d say no.

“Dance with me?”

She nodded.

“Dance with me!”

It felt like they had found a spot away from the world, away from time, away from the magical and Muggle society. For a few hours it was just them, here and now, with no questions asked. Draco was quite a good dancer. He led firmly and confidently, his movement smooth yet strong. Hermione felt like she’d have to ask him at one point whether it was part of his weird old-fashioned Malfoy-education to know your standard dancing. And also, where in Merlin’s name he had to learn how to dance a Mazurka. But it could wait. For now, she was happy enough to be held by him, to feel his body move in unison with hers to the sound of the old pianoforte. At some point he accidentally touched her scar and pulled his hand away as if he had touched fire. She stopped dancing and met his gaze. Terrified. Scared. Wounded. The memory as fresh in his mind as it was in hers. Slowly, she took hold of his fingers and placed them on her forearm.

“It’s just a scar,” she said. “It doesn’t hurt any more. And it doesn’t bite.”

His fingertips followed the letters, carefully tracing the marks.

“I wish this had never happened,” he whispered. “I wish I could make it undone. I wish you’d never gone through this.”

For a few moments they just stood there. The pianoforte had stopped playing as Draco’s mind had been drawn away from the spell.

  
“I don’t think I wish it had been different,” Hermione finally managed to say. “I think… I would be very different today. A different person. I don’t know whether I would like to be that other person and I kind of like who I am so… I’d rather not change anything.”

“I would,” Draco murmured and unconsciously touched his own forearm where the mark was hidden underneath his shirtsleeve.

She didn’t even know how it happened, but suddenly there was no other option left in her mind. She just leaned forward and kissed him. It was just a short brush of the lips, but it was a kiss.

“No you wouldn’t,” she said and took his hand.

“Come.”

“Where are we going?”

“Surprise. Trust me?”

 

~*~*~*~

 

She had not planned on bringing anyone to her flat that night. It was untidy. There were books lying about, mugs of stale coffee standing on tables, on the floor, even on the window sill. And the cat had ruined the curtains again. She usually didn’t like people visiting her unannounced. She liked when everything was in order when friends came to visit. But this time, for the first time, she didn’t care that there were shoes lying in the middle of the room and an alternative dress still hanging from her open wardrobe door.

Draco stood in front of her fireplace as if he had just turned into a pillar of salt.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“You… you brought me to your home?”

“It seemed to be a sensible place. It’s comfy and it’s not a huge intimidating castle. There are blankets and there’s tea and… I thought it’s as good a place as any...”

“You kissed me.”

“I did.”

“Why did you kiss me?”

She stared at him. Was he seriously asking her this question? He had been her friend for a little more than a year. He had listened to her. He had been there for her. They had shared so many feelings with each other. He had been the one who had made this romantic. He had danced with her in a stately home in candle light. Instead of an answer she just pulled him close and kissed him again. This time, it became a longer kiss, passionate. He didn’t react at first, remained frozen in place. But when he finally returned the kiss she could feel the longing behind it. His hands were in her hair, on her back, around her waist. Hers wandered underneath his shirt. He froze again. She hesitated. And understood.

“I know you have the mark, Draco Malfoy,” she said. “I am fine with it.”

He shook his head.

“I am not.”

She nodded understandingly, kissed him again, very lightly and then opened the buttons on his shirtsleeve, pushing it back up to his elbow. He made attempts to stop her but she shushed him with a gesture. People called her bossy. Well she could be bossy if she wanted to.

She had never seen the mark up close but she had known the design for years and although it was supposed to spread fear and symbolize Lord Voldemort’s strength it had never made her feel terrified. It looked like a faded tattoo, albeit a very ugly one.

“May I… touch it?” she asked quietly.

Draco nodded. She could see tears in his eyes.

It wasn’t like her scar at all. The skin felt totally normal under her fingertips. Just like an old tattoo.

“They say it’s going to become fainter with time,” Draco whispered. “But it’s never going to vanish.”

She traced the outline of the skull.

“Would you want it to vanish?”

He stared at her as if she had just asked whether he believed the moon was made of cheese.

“Granger, this thing… is a reminder of all the terrible things I have done and all the terrible things my family and friends have done. It’s a reminder of how I was cowardly and didn’t stop my aunt from hurting you. It’s a reminder of everything in me I despise.”

A tear ran down his cheek. He angrily brushed it away.

Hermione led him to the sofa – there was hardly enough space for two people to sit in between all the books that were strewn on it. Her fingers still traced the mark.

“It’s not only that,” she said. “It’s also a reminder of what you have become and who you are today. You would have been different if you had made different choices. You can’t know who you would have been. Neither do I. The only thing I know is I kind of like the Draco I got to know over the last year.”

When her lips touched the mark, it didn’t feel different from normal skin. But Draco’s reaction was violent. He almost screamed in agony. Not actual pain. More like a psychological trauma.

“Do not be ashamed of who you were, Draco Malfoy. We only become who we are through the experiences that we make.”

She kissed the mark again and then went on to kissing his brows, his forehead, his lips, his wet cheeks and his neck.

“Would you like this moment to be different?” she asked.

He pulled her closer.

“No,” he admitted.

“Then don’t regret any moment that led up to this,” she whispered.

His right hand went up to push a stray hair back from her face.

“I still think you should hate me.”

“I still think you are an idiot.”

“I love you, Hermione.”

She smiled and let him kiss her “Mudblood” scar the same way that she had kissed his dark mark.

“I love you, too, Draco.”

 

THE END


End file.
